


Crisis Point

by FenHarelMaGhilana (WhitethornWolf)



Series: Fortune Favour Me [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 18:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhitethornWolf/pseuds/FenHarelMaGhilana





	Crisis Point

The Harrowing Chamber was vast and intimidating in its size and splendour, and there was a chill in the air that had little to do with the cold.

The tower had seemed like nothing more than a haven for mages, or so Eilin had thought until she stepped foot in the place. Even then, she couldn’t imagine abominations were the usual sort of folk you found lurking its halls.

It must have been intimidating to be brought here for your final test — the ‘harrowing’ Wynne had spoken of earlier. She tried to imagine herself as a young apprentice standing in the centre, tired and shivering and surrounded by templars. Men and women whose duty was to guard and protect — whether you or others, depending on the outcome.

Except it was no apprentice who stood in the chamber, and whatever templars had been here were long dead. In their place were abominations, flanking a single mage who stood with his arms thrown outwards, magic swirling in bright ribbons around him.

Eilin had long since run out of patience and tolerance for demons, and she’d have to be a fool not to realise exactly what this Uldred had become. She wasn’t too surprised when he revealed his true form.

“Like an ogre, only with magic,” Alistair said to her, as the pride demon’s roars filled the chamber. “Because nothing could possibly go wrong with that.”

"Eilin!"

 

She barely heard Wynne’s shout over the roar of the demon, as preoccupied as she was with burying her sword as deep in its skull as possible, and  _Maker_ , was it hard enough. She pushed on the hilt of her sword with all her strength, boots slipping and sliding on its back. The demon was scaly and sinewy, and dark blood coated its skin where she’d stabbed it.

The demon roared, twisting wildly, and she hung on with grim determination.

Where were the others? She saw Wynne, staff pointed at the demon with magic streaming from her fingertips; and Leliana, blades flashing as she cut the throat of an abomination. Dannar was tearing at the demon’s legs; she caught flashes of his muzzle covered in red foam, and his growls she could barely hear over the demon’s roars. But where was Alistair?

 

"Eilin—move!  _Now!”_

 

Eilin sprang backwards without hesitation, turning the leap into a somersault and landing neatly several feet away. Then Wynne shouted a word, and the room lit up with electricity. The demon roared, shuddering and shaking, and the smell of burning flesh filled the chamber. Eilin backed away hastily, almost tripping over her feet, and for a brief moment remembered exactly why mages were kept in a tower like this. Then it was over, and the demon’s charred body toppled with a thud that shook the entire room.

 

She bent over, resting her hands on her knees to catch her breath, and grimaced at the squelch of hands on her blood-soaked cuisses. There was gore in her hair and splattered all over her breastplate, too—she probably looked a sight, and wondered if Alistair looked just as bad as she did.

Where  _was_  Alistair?

 

She retrieved her sword from the demon’s body and took stock of the chamber. The room was spattered with blood and the corpses of mages and abominations were strewn everywhere

There was Leliana, cleaning her blades, and Wynne, helping the First Enchanter to his feet. Alistair wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and by now he would have normally appeared, armour covered in blood, sweat-soaked hair, limping — but always with a smile.

Panic bubbled up in her throat, and she had to swallow hard to keep it from turning into nausea. Frantically she said, “Leliana!”

 

"Something I can help with?" the other woman called cheerfully.

 

"Look for Alistair." Eilin kicked aside an abomination’s body and pointed across the chamber. "Search over there, and I’ll look in this area."

 

"You don’t think—"

 

"I don’t know." She shook her head; if she let that thought take root, she’d never be rid of it. "Just…he might need some health poultices. Just look, alright?"

 

It was impossible to tell which mages were which; their twisted forms remained even in death, and it was eerie to walk amongst them. It didn’t help that the chamber was silent apart from the murmur of conversation between Wynne and Irving. Eyes darting between each corpse, Eilin combed the chamber thoroughly starting from where Uldred had fallen. Each body she overturned made her heart pound harder.

_What if he’s dead?_

The thought of that made sweat break out on her palms, and she clenched her fists tight, mouth set in a grim line. It had always been a possibility, ever since Flemeth rescued them from Ostagar. She knew that. She knew it, and it didn’t make it any easier to face the reality of it.

 

_There!_

She skidded to a stop, turned, and bent over the crumpled figure she’d just passed. It was Alistair, alright — she couldn’t miss the curve of his jaw and his battered old splintmail that was falling apart.

“Alistair,” she breathed, and dropped to her knees beside him. He was out cold. Blood bubbled at the corners of his mouth and oozed from a rent in his armour.

 _Still breathing_. The relief almost overwhelmed her, and she closed her eyes and swallowed hard, forcing herself to be calm.

“Wynne,” she called, her voice cracking, and seconds later the old mage appeared in her peripheral vision, bent over Alistair as he groaned.

“Oh dear,” Wynne said, and shook back her sleeves. She went to work with Eilin watching her quietly, hand against Alistair’s cheek. The warmth of the healing magic washed over her, and she watched with fascination as the torn flesh began to knit together.

 

Alistair stirred and she leaned over him, watching his eyelids flutter and eventually open, blinking in the sudden influx of light.

“Urgh,” he groaned, and rubbed his face. “Did we win?”

“You could say that,” Eilin said, and his eyes focused on her.

Shakily he touched her jaw. “Now there’s a pretty sight.”

“What?” she laughed. “Me while covered in demon blood?”

Alistair just grinned and ran a fingertip down her cheek. “Even covered in demon blood. You know, for a second there I thought all that was yours.”

“I’ll check on Irving,” Wynne said, and hurried away. Eilin silently thanked the Maker for mages and their keen sense of timing.

 

“Are you injured?” Alistair asked, and sat up gingerly.

 

“No.” Eilin grimaced as she sat back on her haunches. “Well, maybe. The demon did get me in a few places.”

 

“Me too.” They both grinned at each other, but he still looked concerned. “I’m sure Wynne can —”

 

“It’s fine,” she said, and opened the pouch hanging from her belt. She pulled out a tiny flask and shook it, smiling. “Elfroot juice. I’ve been stockpiling.”

 

“Clever,” Alistair said. “I couldn’t do all this without you, you know.”

 

“You know, I was just about to say the same thing.” Eilin stripped off her glove and bent over her arm, low enough so that she didn’t have to look at him. “When I was at Ostagar I was so…I didn’t care, about anything or anyone, least of all myself. I could have died in the battle, and I wouldn’t have cared. I might have even welcomed it.”

 

“Eilin — “

 

“Just hear me out, you’ll get your turn.” Eilin shook a few drops of the juice over the graze on her arm and rubbed it with her free hand, grimacing at the ache and pull of the raw flesh. “It was easier not to care or feel, and I thought that was how it would be, all this time since we left the Wilds. But you happened.”

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

Eilin shrugged, and returned the flask to her pouch. She wiped her hands on her tunic and finally looked him in the eye. He looked confused…was he really that oblivious to what she was saying, or was it her inability to explain? She had a feeling it was the latter.

“You make me feel…” she trailed off. “Like I’m not so alone.”

“Not alone!” Alistair said, so fiercely that she raised her eyebrows. “Never alone. You have me.” He paused. “For as long as you want me, I mean.”

 

“I do want you,” Eilin said. Seconds later her blush caught up to her and she turned her face away with a mortified groan. “I didn’t —”

 

“I know what you meant.” There was barely contained laughter in his voice, and Eilin glared at him as she stood up.

 

“You’re making fun of me,” she muttered.

 

“Make fun of you, dear lady? Perish the thought.” Alistair took her proffered hand and pulled himself upright. Together they collected their swords and began the walk across the chamber — or the limp, rather, for both of them were somewhat weary.

“I’m just not used to seeing you get flustered,” he continued as they walked, him leaning on her a little heavily. “I’m usually the one blushing and stumbling all over my words.”

 

“I’m not stumbling over my words.” Eilin looked horrified. “Am I?”

 

That earned her a raised eyebrow and a confused shake of the head.

 

“Right. Well, just don’t — don’t do that again. Nearly get yourself killed, I mean. Alright? You scared me half to death.”

 

“I’ll do my best,” Alistair said, very seriously. “You might want to have a word with Loghain, though.”


End file.
